Memories Past, Future's Ruin
by gigi2690
Summary: What if an unsub were to taunt the BAU by mimicking distorted deadly versions of their own pasts? Eventual JJ/Emily.Hotch/OC. Haven't Decided whether to go Morgan/Garcia or Morgan/Reid.
1. Prologue

"_**He who controls the present, controls the past. He who controls the past, controls the future." - George Orwell **_

From her perch, JJ could oversee the whole team, her family. Not to her surprise, her eyes drifted to one Emily Prentiss. That immediate reaction had long ago stopped surprising her. JJ could see that Emily was exhausted. The dark circles under her eyes could circumference JJ's own, and Emily didn't even have a toddler at home. The dark haired woman had a small terse smile: the kind she only got when she'd compartmentalized everything down until she was a smooth, pleasant shell. Emily's shoulders were just a little too high for her successfully pull off the calm, at ease look she was most likely trying to convey, at least to JJ's eyes. Occasionally JJ would question her meticulous inventory and study of the dark Agent Prentiss. She wasn't exactly oblivious to Sapphic inclinations... she did go to college on a soccer scholarship after all. 

She'd often ponder the existence and breadth of her attraction to the woman, and, while she had long denied it, she suspected that it wasn't one sided. Questions of ethics, propriety, complications, and hope would stir in her head during those long dark hours on the jet following the completion of a case. She'd run the scenarios countless times, an endless loop playing in the background. She'd ask the brunette out for one drink that would become many. They'd eventually end up at her apartment door or Emily's: heated touches, grazing teeth, whispered confessions wrapped in satin. She'd take her on her desk, scattering the paper tragedies replacing them with only Emily. She'd take respite between porcelain thighs; she'd leave the woman a more gratifying type of bruise to hide. In the elevator; on the jet; in the bullpen; hell, she'd had one or two successful fantasies of the two of them in Hotch's office. 

All of these coveted thoughts were put to a halt when a southern man with a raspy voice sauntered into her life. She ignored him at first. She tried to resist the advances out of a desire not to lose whatever she was on the verge of having, of what she could have, with Emily. But it was easy; he was easy. She had so much space in the long distance. It was fun and soft, and it was easy. After all her struggles in life, on this job, it was nice to have one thing that was easy. Emily, she knew, was passionate, beautiful, fascinating, brilliant, but the woman would never be easy. 

Then she got pregnant. And while it was scary and nerve wracking, in some ways it was still pretty easy. There were conceptions and paths to follow when these things happen. She could go through the motions. Marry the father, have the child, go back to work. And she did. Even so, she still cataloged every new facet of Emily's personality, every smile, every flinch, every personal tidbit that escaped the older woman's vault of compartmentalization. She still watches when the brunette puts on the Kevlar, and most glaringly of all, she still feels herself caught up in the gravity that is Emily Prentiss. Unable to avoid nearness and the peace it would bring to her often-frazzled psyche. She didn't expect those things would ever change, so like she said, she'd only think on it occasionally. 

"JJ." They blonde jumped just slightly: a movement that would have gone unnoticed if she had worked anywhere besides with the best observers of human behavior. Slowly she turned her attention away from her passing thoughts and shifted her eyes from one brunette to another 

"Yeah, Hotch?" Hotch's eyebrows furrowed in concern, but he paused to allow her room to explain rather than question. When she didn't, he moved on, "We have a new case. Briefing in 10." It was one of the things JJ had always appreciated about Hotch; he didn't push unless he thought the team would suffer. Having an insight into the human psyche doesn't give the right to always act on it. He understood this. 

Momentarily flustered JJ cycled internally through every case she'd seen pass through her desk. 

"I haven't received a new case." There were some missing women, but they all had the markings of personal abductions.

"No. This one came straight to me." JJ sighed. That, she knew, was never good.


	2. Blond Suicides

All facts and statistics, usually uttered by a certain genius, are accurate. I believe in growth through writing, so… if you have suggestions- things you want to see more of or things you want to have changed, let me know, and I'll try to accommodate you

"**There are moments in life, when the heart is so full of emotion that if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths like a pebble drops some careless word, it overflows, and its secret, spilt on the ground like water, can never be gathered together." - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow **

Slipping into the conference room, JJ noticed she was last to arrive. The Knights of the Round Table, as one unsub had once called them, were all assembled. Even Garcia was present, leaning behind Morgan's chair undoubtedly in the midst of banter that would make Strauss' toenails curl. Knowing the darkness she was about to submerge herself in, JJ gratefully allowed the banter to wash over her,

"Baby girl, you know I love you, but I am not going to your yoga class with you." Morgan was laughing as he shook his head. He was looking up from his chair at the blond tech girl with a smile JJ suspected only Garcia could draw out of him at 9 in the morning. Garcia appeared to be struggling to maintain a pout, the jerky bouncing of her shoulders indicative of the laughter she was holding in,

"Come on, my usual yoga buddy backed out. Besides, I want to see your chocolate decadence of a derriere doing a downward facing dog." The battle between laughter and pout was apparently compromised by the emergence of the classic Garcia smirk.

"Nuh-uh. Nope. I do not go for that new agey stuff. You know I prefer a good old cardio and weight training." Unconsciously, JJ suspected, Morgan flexed his biceps just slightly as if illustrating his point.

"The word yoga is derived from the Sanskrit root "yuj," meaning "to control" or "to unite. The first records of yoga practice actually date back to 900 B.C., but there were seals discovered at the Indus Valley sites in Pakistan that show common yoga poses dating back to 3300 B.C." After he finished speaking, Reid looked up from his coffee to the now silent pair, "I believe that would make it very… old agey."

JJ and Rossi muffled a laugh. Morgan opened his mouth with a rebuttal that fell silent and unused as a voice cleared on the other side of the room. Hotch was ready to present the case. The light air present only moments ago vanished as the team prepared to dive into a new case. With a click three young, blond unseeing faces flashed onto the screen. JJ could tell they were all pretty, or used to be before the color left their skin and their eyes became glazed and listless. There was no blood that she could see, and the pictures seemed to be taken at the morgue instead of the crime scene. That was odd.

"Four young women, all in their late teens to early twenties, committed suicide in the past month. All of them lived in Miami Dade County, Florida, each died on a Tuesday. The first one died of a drug overdose, the second two hung themselves, and the most recent one died three days ago of carbon monoxide poisoning from her car in a garage."

Morgan was first to speak up, "I know we've dealt with fake suicides before, but 4 women in a city as big as Miami, is it really that unlikely?"

"The suicide rate in Miami-Dade County is 9 deaths per 100,000 people. As of 2009 there were 2,500,625 people living in Miami-Dade equating an average suicide count of…" Reid paused as he appeared to scan calculations only he could see, "225 deaths per year. That said, given the high Hispanic population in the area and the specific hair colour, gender and age of the victim as well as all occurring on the same day of the week… the likelihood of these deaths being regular occurrences is statistically negligible." For the first time all morning Emily spoke,

"Negligible?" She had a small smile signifying that she was teasing the young genius. Despite herself, JJ felt a tension in her relax at the expression. If Emily was teasing, whatever was wearing the woman down wasn't all encompassing. Even as that tension eased, a larger and deeper rooted tension began to mount. Four women, all so close in age and colouring to JJ's sister. Suicides, at least allegedly, also like her sister. The similarity of it caused an ache deeper than any blade could reach.

Emily's eyes shifted from Reid to JJ. The eye contact affected her like it always did. She felt a warmth spread across her abdomen, down her arms and a small tingle in her fingertips. It momentarily eased the pain the past had brought into being. JJ may have gotten accustomed to many things regarding the often dark yet strangely warm Emily Prentiss, but the woman's ability to instinctively know when she needed a smile, a touch on the arm or a hand to hold never ceased to astound her. Emily's smile widened for just a second as her gaze lingered before switching back to Reid as he answered her, "Negligible meaning less than 1%."

Morgan sighed, seeming to want to argue further but unable to against Reid's statistics, "Is there any evidence at the scenes, DNA? A signature? Were the victims known to be depressed?"

Rossi joined in the questioning which was directed as much at the group as it was at Hotch, "And what's to say they're all related? And not only a few of them?"

Hotch dropped a pile of vanilla folders onto the desk and slid one to each of them, excluding Garcia, who would have no desire to read the reports from the Morgue or see more detailed pictures of the scenes.

Hotch waited until the team's eyes finished their first skim of the file and returned to him, "Some of the answers are in there, we'll discuss on the plane. The local authorities are pretty certain they're dealing with a serial killer, and they've been doing all they can to keep the press from catching wind. If they're right and the schedule holds, there will be another dead young woman Tuesday. We have four days. Garcia, we might be on a deadline so I want the whole team on deck. You're coming with us. Wheels up in 30." Without waiting for a response, Hotch brusquely walked out of the room.

As the others stood and started bustling around with files and coffee, JJ sunk just a little bit deeper into her chair. Her go bag was ready by the door of her office. She'd have to call Will and tell him she wouldn't be home for a few days. Will wouldn't be happy, but Henry would be even less so. Her darling boy was most definitely a momma's boy. While he undoubtedly cared for his father, he clung to her much more vigorously. She liked to believe it was because she was the mother and not because her time with him was much more limited.

"Jayj?" JJ looked up into the bespectacled eyes of her dear friend. Eyes that were now filled with concern and foreboding. Foreboding for the case ahead, concern, she realized, for her. The room was empty except for the two of them. She wasn't quite sure when that happened. She let a smile flit across her features, but she knew it probably looked strained at best. Garcia may not be a profiler, but the woman knew her better than most.

"I'm okay. I was just thinking about how I'm leaving Henry again. I keep waiting for it to get easier to leave him." If Garcia was surprised at the lack of mention of Will, she didn't show it,

"Oh sweetie. That boy loves his mommy something fierce. And who could blame him?" With a grin she bumped her hip against JJ's shoulder. When JJ's expression didn't change, Garcia prodded again cautiously, "Is that all? Or is it the case…" Garcia trailed off in a way that led JJ to believe she knew very well that the case was affecting her and why. JJ had never told Garcia about her sister, but being the Goddess of all things knowable, and as her sister's case was a matter of public record available to anyone internet savvy enough to dig it up, it wasn't too surprising. The sudden feeling of vulnerability was disconcerting. Standing up, JJ felt it lessen slightly as Garcia no longer loomed over her. JJ cleared her throat and tucking a stray flaxen lock behind her ear. The liaison hesitated before meeting her eyes,

"Both to be honest. But I'll be fine." With a brief smile she gathered her things and shot for the door, leaving an unsatisfied Garcia in her wake. JJ hadn't meant to tell the truth. It had slipped out without her permission; the act of a treacherous tongue and tumultuous emotions. Very dangerous with her company, not to mention her position as press liaison. JJ paused in the bullpen to gather her wits and sort through the various things she had to do before boarding the jet. She closed her eyes as her mind raced like a rock thrown down a hill. Dead women, dead sister, Garcia, Will, little Henry, her electric bill, how ridiculously hot was it going to be in Miami in August? Did she have appropriate clothing in her bag?

Thud.

Or at least her thoughts stopped with such abruptness that she could almost hear the thud. Soft delicate fingers trailed along her back, resting between her shoulder blades. JJ didn't move, didn't open her eyes. The blond told herself to breathe. As she did, she felt the fingers make the smallest of circles. Even if she hadn't recognized those fingers, she definitely recognized the warmth that spread out from them like an epicenter across her body. Her stomach jumped; her throat went dry, and the headache that had been threatening to materialize vanished.

Eyes opened. Blue met brown. Emily. The older woman offered her a small smile but did not speak. The silence of the moment was intoxicating.

All too soon the noise of the bullpen came rushing back. The fingers were removed, and Emily had gone to her desk. With a sigh a slightly more relaxed JJ pulled out her phone; she should call Will.


	3. Those Quiet Moments

_Sorry for the delay. I'm on medical leave from college, so needless to say I'm a bit ill. I'm in and out of the hospital, so posting isn't always easy. I will try though. Hopefully this will be a good streak, and I'll have another update soon. Thank you all for your great feedback. Every single one made me smile._

_gigi  
_

**_A story is told as much by silence as by speech.- Susan Griffin_**

The scene inside the jet as the team found their seats was a picture perfect moment of both a set routine and of each of their personalities and troubles. Reid gathered up his gangly limbs into the seat in the corner, deciding to glare into space rather than focus on the invading migraine. Morgan sat down a distance from Reid, but spared a glance of concern every time he readjusted in his seat. Morgan's eyebrows furrow deeper when Reid began mumbling under his breath, most likely the words to the contents of the vanilla file, the file that Morgan was about ¾ through reading.

Garcia was setting up her personal station at a table in the center, chatting à la hummingbird to JJ whose eyes flit from the vanilla file to Garcia and back again like a tennis volley. Emily is half reading the file, half watching Garcia and JJ. Her smile is weak and one-sided as she darts her attention back and forth between tragedy and amusement. Rossi is sitting across from the female profilers and eccentric techie. He's got his eyes on his file and a slew of multi coloured pens scattered across his lap.

Hotch stood by the entrance to the cabin, taking in his team. He knows they are all troubled, damaged even. He sees it in moments like this. But it is moments like this that convince him that there are no better people for the dark task they undertake day in and day out. It is in moments like this that he can see their strength. As he takes his seat the chatter quiets, he does appreciate the respect, but it does make for a difficult time bridging the line of formality with people he truthfully considers family.

He can hear the rumble of the plane under his feet and he prepares for the pain. It happens every time they fly now. It's not overwhelming, but it grates in his ears, that ring. He's trained himself not to react; he doesn't need the team worrying about anything else at the moment. They've already concerned themselves with his love life.

Rossi said Hailey would have wanted him to move on. Hotch cannot find it within himself to say that that isn't what is holding him back. And it's not that bicycle girl isn't sweet or attractive in spite of his hyper over-analysis. He just wants Hailey back.

He waited until everyone had looked up from their vanilla folders and Rossi had put down his pens to begin. He knew that even though Reid may very well not look up the entire time, he'd be listening and probably ready to add before anyone else.

"Okay, so no DNA, no clear signature on the body, what do we think of the first victim, Samantha Witicker?"

"She is the only one that died of a drug overdose; the drug she used was for euthanizing animals. She was a veterinarian; it could have been opportunity." Morgan clearly didn't think that the cases were murder, but this didn't concern Hotch. Having different viewpoints on a team is always an advantage as long as there is a chain of command and an ability to yield when wrong, even if you don't admit to it. The true danger was when everyone has the same view on a team; it is then that they stop checking each other.

Emily was shaking her head, her eyes darting quickly to JJ before responding. Hotch knew that he wasn't the only one concerned about how JJ was going to take to this case. There was no doubt that Hotch had always been a little softer with JJ and Garcia, the two on the team not trained to analyze and compartmentalize. Perhaps he felt less guarded. He cared for everyone on his team, Emily less so at first because she was a new element brought in without his assent. She was a wild card, wrapped in political strings, and dipped in clashing agendas. It took awhile for him to see her through all of that, for him to see that she bore those strings and weights like just one of another great burdens hidden in her past and behind her eyes.

"I don't know, there are an awful lot of parallels between the situations and crime scenes if you ignore the cause of death. I mean, the same day of the week, the time of death was down to within the hours of 9pm and midnight for all four victims. While none of the scenes had any signs of forced entry, a window in each of the victims' houses was found open on the ground floor. That could have been the unsub's means of getting in the house. It sounds like murder to me. He might have forced them to commit suicide, which would mean the method of killing them might reflect the way he views them."

"Recent studies have noted a 136.5% increase in drug overdose related deaths among women, which is higher than any other demographic. Both overdosing on drugs and suicide via car exhaust are considered more reserved, feminine methods of committing suicide. Hanging, on the other hand, is more common in men. The unsub may view the 1st and 4th and 2nd and 3rd victims similarly." Reid recited all of this from his scrunched position in corner, his eyes straining slightly under the cabin lights.

While he was talking, Emily had gone and returned with a bottle of water, which she handed gently to Reid. After a moment's hesitation, he took it and revealed his crooked smile. Hotch knew they were on unsteady ground after Emily's "death" and resurrection, but he had a feeling they were starting to find their way back again. For now Emily would give him water and smiles, and eventually Reid would be ready to talk to her. Hotch was a little less certain about Reid's relationship with JJ. He had taken her silence on Emily's condition as a deep betrayal, speaking to their deep connection, seeing as he had been forgiven much easier than she had.

There was a pause as everyone was processing what Reid had said, analyzing implication, rolling through theory and experience to pinpoint the intent and mindset of yet another unsub. Yet another rabbit hole to jump down, and out before it swallowed them up. Hotch dished out assignments for crime scenes, with Reid already figuring out the unsub's comfort zone. After a moment, Hotch sighed. He'd forgotten they were going to be in Miami. It was going to be unbearably hot. Perhaps he'd ditch the jacket and tie, but not until they had set up at the station. Formalities.


End file.
